“I, uh . . .” The vision of Faelan’s naked body climbing over the rim of the nest flashes through my head again. I swallow hard and try to blink it away. Have we even talked at all? But then I remember: the car. We talked in the car. “He, well, he told me about you. How you’re the son of, um . . . a sea god.” And I already forgot the name. Great. This is why I should’ve paid attention in World Civ. “And he explained how your world and the human world overlap. How my mother was the goddess Brighid. My whole life’s been a lie. And all that stuff.”
Marius waits, like he’s thinking I’ll say more, but I’ve given him everything I can remember. That I can tell him.
“I see,” is all he says. And I swear that the air chills, the hair on my arms prickling.
“Did you know that an avocado has fat in it?” Barbara pipes up.
Every eye at the table moves to her—she hasn’t said a word since we sat down.
“Why would the trainer order me to add one to my shakes? I’m telling you, that’s the extra three hip pounds. I just can’t peel them off.” She shakes her head, the strange faux smile clinging to her lips. Maybe the plastic face is because of Botox or something.
“Enough with the three hip pounds, Barb,” Aelia mutters.
Barbara reaches out and places a hand on Marius’s arm. “I only wish you would help me, dear. Can’t you do one of your manipulation spells or whatever it is? I know you’ve done it for your other wives, I’ve seen the pictures of—”
Aelia drops her fork on her plate. “The cursed three pounds aren’t going anywhere, Barb, because they’re in your head.”
Barb’s stiff features shift into an offended slant. “You’ll live three hundred years without a blemish, Aelia. The least you could do is have a little pity on your mortal mother.”
“Enough,” Marius says, his voice low with warning. “Both of you.”
The women give a silent response to each other, squinting their eyes and pinching their lips together, then they return to their plates.
Marius waits an extra beat before taking another bite of steak. He chews for a few tense seconds and then focuses on me again. “Faelan has disappointed me. He’s told you very little.”
“No, he’s done fine,” I say, quickly. It’s my fault the guy’s out of it. “I never did that good in school. The student role isn’t my best look. I’ve got crap focus.” Which isn’t really true; I actually managed a tolerable 3.0 most of the time, in spite of how rarely I made it to class, but he doesn’t have to know that.
Marius raises an eyebrow. “His task for the day was not complicated. All he needed to do was inform you of the ceremony. Apparently this never came up?”
“We’ve barely seen each—” I start to say before I realize I’m officially a snitch. First I put him in a coma, and now I’m throwing him under the bus. “I mean . . . there was so much talking. He said some stuff, lots of stuff, but maybe I didn’t hear it.”
“It’s good that you’re loyal to him,” Marius says. “But there’s no need for excuses.”
Aelia stares into the golden wine she’s swirling around her glass. “My dad’s talking about the ceremony of Emergence. It’s like a creepy birthday party. But with chanting.”
“Thank you, Aelia,” Marius says. “However, that’s not helpful.”
“Whatever. She’s not going to understand it.” She rolls her eyes. “The newblood’s been in blind-ville too long. And our resident hunter has a huge stick up his ass, so he’s not going to be straight with her.”
Barb bobs her fork in the air, a dreamy look filling her eyes at the mention of Faelan. “Last time I saw him, he seemed like a smart young man.”
“He’s not young, Mom,” Aelia says. “He’s, like, nine million years old.”
I drop my fork. “What?”
“That’s ludicrous hyperbole,” Marius says. “He was born in the fourteenth century.”
“Same thing,” Aelia says.
The fourteenth century . . . that was . . . a long time ago.
Barb almost lets the spot above her nose crinkle. “I’d say he’s quite young compared to your father.”
My gaze snaps to Marius again. I study him more closely, scrutinizing his perfect, unblemished skin. I think of Faelan . . . He’s more than seven hundred years old? He doesn’t look a day over twenty-three. How old is Marius if he looks thirty? And how does it work—are they immortal or something? Oh wow, does that mean I’m going to live hundreds of years too?
Even as the thought comes, my brain rejects it. Because if that is my reality now . . . what do I do with something like that?
“The point is that you need to understand what’s expected of you as a demi,” Marius says, breaking through my amazement. “There’s much you’ve yet to learn, and the hour is late.”
Aelia says with a smirk, “Like, three or four years late.”
“Excuse me?” What’s that mean?
“She will do fine,” Marius says. “Once the Introduction is done tomorrow evening, she’ll have a little time to learn.”
I lean forward, gripping the table. “How am I three or four years late? Late to what?”
“You’re a demigoddess,” Marius says.
Like I don’t know that already! “We covered that.”
“Normally you’d have been brought in when your magic began to surface,” he continues. “Around your thirteenth or fourteenth year is when that usually occurs. Another demi would have felt your Emergence beginning—a process that takes several years to fulfill itself—but it appears that you were cloaked or muffled in some way. I felt your magic begin to spark only three months ago. I sent the pixie and the human to watch you for a time, to see if I was sensing correctly. It was clear fairly quickly to Star what you were. And so an Emergence ceremony was requested for the next new moon. Unfortunately, that leaves very little time to prepare you. Less than I thought, if a whole day was wasted.”
That explanation certainly clarifies the last few months of my life some. But an ache blossoms in my chest when I think of the moment I met Ziggy—how I saved her from that dealer off Chatsworth. Was he a fake too? He nearly shot me—or I thought he was going to. But it was all a ploy to endear me to her. How could I have been so blind? I’m supposed to be the liar. I’m the manipulator, the survivor.
Now I’m the one who’s been duped—my whole life.
“When?” I ask.
“The initial Introduction ceremony will be tomorrow night,” Marius says. “And until then, things are delicate. Your energies will be confused and unfocused. There is a small amount of danger for you until the official protective bonds can be done by the druids. Then you’ll train with your protector until the final Emergence ceremony, which will occur at the next new moon.”
Danger. From me or for me? I already know I’m combustible. That I can burn the shit out of things. And people.
I feel like I’m being smothered by the questions piling up inside of me.